


Scars

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: First and Commander: Namira Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is injured; Cullen worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

She woke up slowly, drifting to awareness in a hazy, seesaw fashion.  Faintly she realized something was amiss.   _Drugged_ , her mind whispered, the taste of elfroot heavy in her mouth.  Namira groaned, trying to open her eyes. **  
**

Flashes of memory came back to her.  The acrid burn of red lyrium.  A shout torn from her throat.  The crash of a behemoth’s twisted arm brought down, down upon her, her staff clattering to the ground.  She thought she remembered Blackwall and Cassandra’s voices, low and worried; Sera’s voice went higher-pitched when she was nervous, and she remembered it frantic and piping in her ears.

She shifted.  There was another voice.  “Namira?  Are you awake?”

_Cullen._

She opened her eyes, wincing.  There was a sharpness with every twitch of her brow, and a fierce, slicing pain throbbing in the side of her cheek.  She tried to lick her lips, and winced again at the sting of her saliva on her upper lip.

Cullen peered down at her, his normally ruddy cheeks pale.  He sat next to her on the bed, no armor in sight, his linen shirt rumpled.  He looked unwell, she thought.  His hair was messy, with loose curls tangling their way over his forehead, brushing against the rounded tips of his ears.  He hadn’t bothered to tame them.  The skin beneath his eyes was strangely red and puffy.  

“What’s wrong?” Namira breathed.  

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, swallowed, smiled.  His eyes looked bright, too bright.  “You gave me – you gave us all quite the scare.”  The words trembled in his mouth; she could sense the frailty to them even through her haze.  He reached out an unsteady hand, cupped her cheek gently on the side of her face that did not burn.

She slipped her hand out from beneath the blanket, clumsily laid it on top of his.  She tried to smile, though it stung.  “I’m all right,” she said, and she hoped she told the truth.

“I know,” said Cullen.  He gazed at her, sadness in the line of his shoulders, the lopsided pull to his mouth.  “But it was close, Namira.”  He let out a sigh, shaking his head.  “You truly put the healers to the test.  They said you’ll always bear the scars.”

Namira’s other hand crept up cautiously, fingertips ghosting over the right side of her face.  She felt a visceral twist in her belly, the instinct to recoil at the ridged, jagged laceration dividing the length of her cheek.  There were other, smaller wounds too; a deep cut at the edge of her lip leading near to her nose, a crusted line bisecting her eyebrow, two tender wounds crossing the bridge of her nose.  Red burned in her mind’s eye, the shattered face of a former templar, blood melting the snow, crimson staining her gloves.  Namira shuddered until the images faded.

She closed her eyes, considering.  New scars.  New brushes with death.  New people to care for her, to  _fear_  for her.  There were weighty things there to examine, lurking in the shadows of her mind.  She had been pushing them aside for such a long time.  Or maybe running was the better term; running from the fears and failures, the responsibilities.

Maybe she could run a little more.

She cleared her throat, kept her eyes squeezed shut.  She asked the most important, the most inconsequential, question.  “Will you still find me beautiful?” she asked playfully.

“Always,” he said, and she felt his lips brush against her forehead.  

She smiled, ignoring the stinging, the fear.  “You’d better,” she warned, and his startled laughter soothed her even more than she had hoped. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeeeeeah I got the Black Emporium and promptly gave my Lavellan some lovely new scars. Then I needed a bit of hurt/comfort about them :)


End file.
